


Meet Cute

by queenofthelab23



Category: Jeremy Renner - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Jeremy Renner - Freeform, Kid Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-19
Updated: 2013-05-19
Packaged: 2017-12-12 08:11:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/809313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthelab23/pseuds/queenofthelab23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is what happens while you’re busy making plans. Maddy never made plans for this to happen but she’s kind of wishing she had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet Cute

**Author's Note:**

> Set starting September 2017; his daughter is a character but absolutely not meant to reflect the real life one (obviously). If it’s not your thing, don’t read (but personally, I think Renner as a Dad is adorable). Warnings for fluff, feels, ovaries exploding and JFR. Inspired by this photo http://24.media.tumblr.com/0b9af7b57220375b23b54bd146d67fef/tumblr_mmcqa8pAbL1sq04keo1_400.jpg

The first time I met him, I couldn’t tell you exactly what I thought about him. Well, I guess I could but then where would the mystery be? I guess if I’m being honest, the first time I met him I kind of thought he was an ass. The old adage goes that you should never meet your heroes and it can be true: living in the celebrity circle of Hollywood, you can run into someone nearly every damn day so it’s inevitable one of them will end up as a disappointment. So, the first time I met him, I wasn’t that enamoured. Actually, I did think he was gorgeous. That was the initial zing to my lonely brain, at least: you couldn’t help but let your eyes drift up and down that cocky Cali look he rocked well into his forties but I was a girl never taught to judge a book by its pretty-boy cover and … well… he didn’t impress me at first. There was this one little bookstore I frequented, pushed back from the corporate crap that usually lined the gold-paved streets in Hollywood. It was for the community, not for the tourists or the ridiculously rich who sent out their assistants to buy the latest books for their children to pretend to read. It annoyed me a little, how I’d grown up in this place and how gradually I’d seen the heart deflate from it, but it was still in this bookstore, my heaven and my home away from home. I’d actually worked there all the way through college and it felt like a second skin to me now, trawling through the stacks, spending hours trying to find what I wanted. Most of my paycheck nowadays went to the owner and he always joked that he should kiss my feet for putting dollars in his pocket when nobody else came in.

I walked in one morning and it was unusually cold for the time of year in Cali, the bitterness of the wind just slicing through any possible heat from an early September morning. The doorbell bleeped as I came inside, pulling off my scarf and jacket and handing them to Sandy, the kind old man who had worked there for as long as I could remember. “Morning Mr B, you get that stock in for me? The classics?” I smiled at him, running my fingers down my long mane of bright red hair, tousled by the wind, hoping he remembered my request.

Sandy chuckled at me, “What’s with all the questions, my girl, go look for yourself. I think the new kid put some in the back on the bottom for you.” He waved me off, leaning back in his chair. Sandy was a fixture as much as the wallpaper and the books themselves, but you could see the weariness behind his eyes at a lifetime of dedication against the cult of new California creeping in like a predator. He leaned forward as I started off towards the stacks, “There’s a handsome man in the back. You should go talk to him.” Sandy winked just a touch, going silently back to his usual morning crossword.

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to ask him if he wants to marry me.” I laughed to myself, walking back into the labyrinthine bookshelves, shaking my head.

The store was bright, even if it was a little worn around the edges and I loved every inch of it to death. The bookshelves hadn’t changed in the 33 years I’d been alive and practically living in the store so I could show customers to the place they needed to go with such precision that they always mistook me for the owners’ daughter or granddaughter. But that day I met a little piece of Hollywood in my bookstore, I had no idea what was about to happen to me. I was in the back as usual, kneeling down on the rough carpeting to get at the precious lower shelves as I poured through some copies of old classics. I was so absorbed, lost in worlds of romance and mystery and human frailty, I didn’t see him stand right over me, stretching up over my head to reach something.

“Hey, Red, you’re kind of in my way here. Mind moving?”

I stopped at the rugged honey of that voice, something deeply masculine about it making me want to look away from my books. “I’m sorry?” I put my book to down, tilting my head to the side and up a little so I could look him.

“You’re in my way.” He said a little slower, as if I didn’t understand English. From this angle, he seemed like a giant towering over me on the floor, “I’m trying to get to the top shelf, darlin’.” He pointed, obviously waiting for me to move but then his eyes raked over my body instead, following the cascade of red hair down my back, to my backside. I saw his demeanour change in an instant. “Unless you wanna make it worth my while since you’re down there; you know, your call, Red.”

I stood up to my full height, my own book in hand and noticed how he basically had my back to the bookshelves, trapped and confined, “I’m gonna have to say no, but thanks for playing. Better luck next time.” I rolled my eyes a little, stepping to the side to escape his body trap. Yeah, I recognised him; I knew instantly who he was. An imposing aura like that was hard to miss, after all. He carried that frat boy air around him like he was still in his teens or twenties, not pushing mid-forties, even though I had to admit he carried it better than most. Hell, he carried it better than all of them. Men have a way of aging like wine, Mom said. “What are you looking for?” I asked out of curiosity; I’d learned quickly that you couldn’t judge a book by its cover but you could judge a man by his books. “Men’s Interest is two stacks that way.” I gestured to my right, figuring him for a book on car engines or maybe a biography.

He blinked and looked down for a second, almost blushing. Well, maybe he was; it could have been a trick of the light too; men like him didn’t blush. “Uh, actually, I was looking for children’s literature. My girl’s got her eye on being Katniss and she wants me to read the books to her.”

Well if that wasn’t the most fucking adorable thing I’d ever heard in my life. Despite my first impressions of the man as a towering frat boy, I have to admit I melted like cheap ice cream. What woman doesn’t have a weakness for strong men looking after little kids? It’s biological. Completely proven fact… “Well in that case, children’s is down here…” I lead him to the end of the shelf, easily locating the entire set of books he was looking for, “These are amazing books but if she likes action and fantasy, there’s so much more to the genre than just Katniss.”

“You work here or something?” he chuckled, scrubbing a long-fingered hand over his short hair, obviously torn between studying me and the shelves.

I shook my head, taking out another three books, “No, man, not for a long time. I’m just a fan, I guess. Waving the flag for the little guy, kinda thing.”

He seemed to smile genuinely, though I couldn’t read those sparkling blue eyes of his, framed by long lashes, “Keeping the Hollywood out, huh?” he shifted on his feet, looking over the books I’d just handed to him. “Thanks for the help, Red.” I wasn’t sure if it was a shiver or a shudder when he called me that nickname again.

“Madeline. My name’s Madeline. Or Maddy, if you like; which I do.” I held out a hand for him to shake but saw his façade come down again as he turned my hand over and planted a kiss to the top of my knuckles. I absolutely did not shiver or shudder. At all. Nope.

“Maddy, then. Thanks for the help. I’ll be Dad of the year with these.”

He waved his books for emphasis and I smirked just a little, “No problem, Dad of the year. I’m here every Sunday, if you need another book-picker, Mr Hollywood.” Teasing him seemed easy, seemed fun. He was a frat boy on the surface but I guessed every frat boy had a softer side too.

“Renner.” He took a step back as if going to the front to pay, “Was nice talking to you… Red.” He smirked at me and that giddy thrill absolutely didn’t go up my spine at the sight of pearly white teeth and a cocky grin.

“Maddy!” I called out to him as he laughed and disappeared from my sight.

And that was that. I met him, didn’t think much of him (honestly) in that worn leather jacket, looking like a rock star or someone else very ‘Hollywood’. Looking back on it now, I had no idea how complicated things got so quickly. It’s fair to say Renner changed my life but I’m still not sure about how he did it so damn quickly. I didn’t see him again the next Sunday, after all, and figured that I never would again so I put him out of my mind until I could start my new job. I was a teacher in a school – okay, teacher is a strong word for 4 year olds, I summarised quickly. Maybe kid-wrangler was a better euphemism. I hadn’t even thought about Renner and his leather jacket and Katniss books that morning so I was chalking it up as a successful day already. It was warm and bright that Monday; the white painted walls gleamed and reflected the sunshine in my new classroom. I’d already set up the tables and chairs and planted myself by the door, greeting every 4 year old boy and girl in my new class as well as a quick hello to mothers, fathers, grandparents, au pairs… The last child through the door, running into the classroom with a skid, was a little girl with sandy blond hair thick and straight down the sides of her face. She wore the most adorable dark blue dungarees with a pale blue shirt on underneath, flowers dotted around it and looked the picture of mischief. I bent down to talk to her when a parent didn’t follow her in like the others had, concerned that she was alone, “Hey there, what’s your name?”

She looked up at me, panting a little from the effort of running but grinned a familiar grin. Her voice had a Cali lilt already, I noticed; “Ava. You the teacher?”

I nodded and bent down a little further to her eyeline, getting worried that she was lost or alone, “Okay Ava, what a beautiful name.” I kept smiling, not wanting to alarm her, “Where’s Mommy and Daddy, then Ava?”

The little girl tugged at her own hair, obviously trying to think of words, “Ummm… Daddy chased me. He’s old.”

“Hey less of the old, sweetheart.” That honey voice and slight chuckle was unmistakable and something clicked into place in my head… Ava, the hair, the eyes, that grin, the mannerisms and that cheeky tone of voice? There was no mistaking who her father was and why I looked up at him, my mouth a little ajar. He was standing in the doorway, out of breath a little, with a ridiculously adorable pink backpack and lunch bag in his hand. For my credit, I snapped into work mode Maddy quickly and stood up, tugging and smoothing my bright yellow blouse. “Ava.” He said softly, his eyes settling on my face only briefly before turning back to his little girl. I wasn’t sure whether he recognised me or not in that glance; “Don’t run off from Dad like that, sweetheart. Here…” he handed her the bags with an eye roll.

Ava giggled mischievously; I was going to have to keep my eye on her. “Thank you. Sorry. This the teacher, Daddy.” Ava tugged on the bottom of my top and pulled me towards her father insistently. I learned later that insistence and stubbornness was an inherent trait passed from father to daughter. “My teacher.”

“Yeah I can see who she is, Ava.” Renner muttered, holding out a hand, “Nice to meet you, Ms Teacher.”

I shook his hand and he looked into my green eyes, that familiar warm gaze running down my figure and back up again. “Maddy Halliday.”

The moment I said my first name, I could see the pieces snap into place and he just blinked at me. Neither of us knew what to say as he dropped my hand slowly from his grasp. Of all the classrooms in all the schools in all the world, his four-year old daughter just had to be in mine. Things were about to get difficult, I automatically knew, but I never could quite conceive just how much coincidences could pay off in the long run. I wish I knew then what I know now: life is what happens while you make other plans.


End file.
